Avatar: The Master of Trance
by Piercewise
Summary: The world of Gaia fell out of balance nearly a century ago. Now, two heroes must come to terms with their past and unlock their true potential in order to mend a broken planet. A mash-up of the plots, characters, and worlds of Final Fantasy IX and Avatar: The Last Airbender!
1. Chapter 1: A Place to Call Home

The storm had risen up out of nowhere, completely encompassing the little raft that now bobbed helplessly amid twenty-foot waves. Torrents of water splashed over the side, soaking the two cloaked figures that huddled together at the vessel's center. A mighty breaker lifted the boat high into the air, and then crashed it back into the turbulent waters. Rotted wood creaked, sails tore, lightning flashed. The craft spun about in the storm's fury, tipping dangerously to one side…

Princess Garnet awoke with a start. Beams of afternoon sunlight played across her face, calmed her. She was sitting by a window in a well-furnished bedroom - _her_ bedroom. She rubbed her eyes, forced herself to acknowledge the dark-paneled wood and immaculate tile floors. A hearty fire burned nearby. Everything bore the deep red color and golden trim of the Fire Nation.

She was home.

Relief overcame her confusion at the dream. No matter how many times she experienced it, the warmth of reality was enough to expel it from her thoughts. But something had been different this time. For a moment, in waking, she was sure it wasn't a dream at all, but a memory…had she even been asleep?

She washed her face and smoothed the wrinkles from her royal robes. The crimson fabric was brand new, a birthday gift from a local noble looking to curry favor. Despite the implications Garnet couldn't help but admire the light material, which breathed like air but seemed to burn with the famous fire of her household. After one last look in the mirror, she turned and left.

"Hello cousin."

She had only taken a few quiet steps away from her room! Even growing up together, Garnet had never gotten used to her cousin's ability to simply appear from the shadows.

"Hello Azula. Are you heading out as well?"

"Indeed. Father sends his regrets; he says he's far too busy to attend tonight's performance." If there had been any emotion in the original message, it was lost in Azula's flat delivery. With a look that was more sneer than smile, she continued, "Though I can understand – being the most powerful man in Gaia is a great responsibility, wouldn't you say?"

Garnet withered beneath the Princess' yellow-eyed gaze, nodded slightly. "I- I suppose so."

Azula narrowed her eyes in victory, and the sneer gained even more height. "Come. We can make our way to Ember Island together. It will give us a wonderful opportunity to…talk." She turned sharply, knowing her cousin would follow.

Garnet swallowed – it seemed to take a great amount of effort. She did her best to scour the wince from her face. It was going to be a long palanquin ride.

* * *

"Alright, let's start the meeting already!" the grizzled voice shouted, the sound partly muffled by its owners enormous beard rustling in the seaside wind. Several heads turned his way, and a stiff nod confirmed the call to action. Lumber was dropped and props abandoned as the Freedom Fighters gathered in the ship's hold, where sheets of blueprints lay scattered on a worn table lit by several stumpy candles. When everyone had assembled, he began speaking again.

"Today, the Freedom Fighters go down in history! By posing as members of a traveling theater company, 'Tantalus', we are going to kidnap the Fire Nation's Princess Garnet!" Cheers echoed off the wooden bulkheads. "Jet, you can take it from here."

"Thanks Baku," the young man replied. "Tonight, during our performance of 'I Want to Be Your Canary', Zidane and I will sneak into the royal box where the Fire Nation royalty sit. Then we wait for the signal from Blank."

"I'll distract the audience from backstage with these little buggers," Blank continued, holding up a small jellylike creature with five legs. "Purple pentapi. Harmless, but annoying when they cling to your skin and won't let go. You gotta stroke their head to get them off, 'course most people don't figure that out too quickly." He lightly scratched a purple mass on his right forearm – the creature cooed softly and plopped into the pail of water he was holding. "And that'll be your cue, Zidane."

The blonde thief spoke for the first time, a wry smile on his face. "That's when I kidnap Princess Azula, right?"

"You bet!" Baku affirmed. "You're gonna kidnap the crazy, bad-ass Princess Az- wait, what am I saying?" The cabin roared with laughter. "Your target is the most babe-ilicious beauty in the Fire Nation, Princess Garnet! Unless you _want_ to get burnt to a crisp before you can blink!"

"The general's daughter isn't a bender?" someone asked from the back.

"Correct-a-mundo. Only one in the family, which makes her the perfect target. Now get to your stations, we've got a show to put on! Pipsqueak, you're on lookout! Jet, where'd you put that blasting gel? We're gonna need to make a quick getaway…"

* * *

The streets of Ember Island were crawling with patrons, as both the wealthy nobility and the commoners had come out in droves to see this new performing group. Vendors had set up shop in every spare corner, peddling cured meats and fire flakes to anyone within earshot. Amid the crowded madness a lone figure shuffled down the road, eyes to the ground and slender fingers clutching a ticket with gold-embossed lettering.

He was short for an Imperial soldier, which meant his red standard-issue robes bunched about his ankles and caused him to stumble quite often. Instead of armor he wore a wine-colored coat that laced about his neck and chest. A crimson scarf and fawn-colored cap conspired to obscure his face behind fabric and shadow; in fact, no skin was visible beneath the figure's layered clothing. If this caused him any distraction under the hot sun he did not show it, though he did appear to be lost.

With a little bit of searching he found his way to the theater and presented his ticket at a small window near the front. The guard inspected the ticket carefully several times, then looked around as if searching for help. Seeing none, he handed the ticket back to the soldier.

"Sorry kid, the ticket's a fake. I've seen a lot of these today."

"Noooo!" the young man cried, dropping his head forward in defeat. He was so looking forward to the show, too…tears gathered at the corners of his eyes and, growing heavy, splashed down to the pavement.

"Now now, don't cry," said the ticket man, at a loss for how to continue. "Uh…what's your name?"

"Vivi," the short soldier replied, wiping his eyes.

"Okay Vivi. Well…there will be other shows, right? You shouldn't get so down."

The young soldier turned away without responding. Shuffling and sniffling, he wandered past the theater and crossed the first road he came to. Just then a hand reached out and grabbed his collar, pulling him backwards moments before a heavily-laden ostrich horse and cart flew by in front of him.

"Careful there, little guy!" the benefactor roared, his voice shaky but deep. Vivi turned to look at his guardian angel, only to find himself staring up at a towering young figure of muscle wrapped in a dull brown tunic. He had shaggy black hair that framed a wide smile, and seemed to be carrying an entire log on his back.

"Thank you sir. I g-guess I should have been more careful."

The tall one laughed at this. "You bet! Keep your eyes on the road next time. Where were you off to?"

"Oh, nowhere," Vivi offered. "I found out my ticket for tonight's show is a fake, so I guess I'll just grab a boat back to the mainland."

The other boy smiled a toothy grin. "You know, you might be able to help me out tonight. How about I get you into that show after all?"

"H-how?" Vivi stammered. Another laugh from his new companion.

"I gotta friend that can find us some seats, as long as you're not afraid of heights! All you gotta do is look out for Fire Nation guards and yell when you see one comin'. Sound good?"

Vivi nodded. "Um…okay, yeah. Okay. Hey, what's your name?"

"Pipsqueak," the young man stated with vigor. "Don't worry; you won't have trouble remembering it pretty soon."


	2. Chapter 2: Swords of Fury

The two contrasting figures worked their way through the massive crowds of people who had assembled to watch the visiting troupe's performance. While only the nobility and a few wealthy shopkeepers were able to obtain tickets, commoners from all over the Fire Nation had gathered to catch a glimpse of the action by any means necessary. The theater was outdoors, and nearby hillsides were packed with families and students. The bravest of the latter group had even scaled surrounding rooftops, letting their feet dangle stories above the dirt below without the slightest sign of fear. The streets were overrun with merchants hocking fire flakes and street urchins groping for loose moneybags on fat bellies.

Vivi darted and stumbled through the crowds, his golden eyes glued to the back of the young man who had offered to get him into the show. The mass of humanity seemed to part before his savior's broad chest, only to collapse in around the empty space behind. He clutched his triangular hat as a passing elbow nearly brushed it from his head. He briefly considered calling out to the young man, but doubted his meek voice would be able to cut through the bedlam. After a few more worrying minutes, they broke from the crowd to walk down a side alley that squeezed its way between two aging shops. They descended a set of crude stone steps, then navigated a maze of walkways and crawl spaces. By the eighth change in direction, Vivi knew he was hopelessly lost. But after another few minutes of walking, they came upon an even younger boy that Vivi didn't think could look him straight in the eye if he stood on his tiptoes. He was leaning against a shoddy pile of shingles, striking a pose that suggested he considered this an incredibly cool thing to be doing. He nodded at Pipsqueak, causing the oversized helmet he wore to slide down over his forehead.

"You're just in time," the young boy said. "Curtain's about to open. Who's the kid?"

"New recruit. I was going to put him on bag duty," Pipsqueak replied, with a smile that caused him to squint and crinkled the skin at the corner of his eyes. "He sure looks the part, doesn't he?"

The boy made a show of examining Vivi closely, even ducking his head to peer under the mage's floppy hat. Vivi instinctively grabbed the brim and jammed it down to his shoulders. The boy let out his breath with a "Hmph!", which caused a bubble of snot to escape from his left nostril. It exploded with a small *pop*.

"Yeah, I guess he'll do. C'mon, the show's gonna start soon." He pushed on a section of wall behind him and it fell inward, revealing a rope bridge that connected a post on the far side of the room to a docked ship some thirty feet away. Vivi was shocked in turn by how close they were to the water, and then to the fact that they expected him to traverse the bridge. But the other two were already walking through the makeshift passage. Vivi leapt forward to follow them, but the hem of his robe caught under his sandal and he fell forward onto his face. A small cloud of dust greeted his arrival.

The small boy turned around at the noise and took in the sight. He sighed out another snot bubble. "I sure hope this works."

"No worries!" exclaimed Pipsqueak, slapping his companion hard on the back. "We trust in the Boss, and things always work out okay."

* * *

Garnet alternated between clenching her hands and releasing them. The trip from her family's summer house to the theater had felt hours long, thanks to the presence of her cousin. Azula had a way of making every question terrifying, like a test you hadn't prepared for. Garnet closed her eyes and tilted her head back, feeling the cold stone of her miniature throne through her raven hair. A shiver streaked its way down her back and across her arms. They had only talked about lessons, weather, and tonight's festivities; yet somehow Garnet felt as if all the warmth had left her blood, like her heart had stopped entirely. Azula made every conversation into a competition, and she knew how to win.

Garnet reopened her eyes and took their luxurious surroundings. The two princesses sat in the royal box, one of the few covered sections in the theater. Their balcony was strategically built to offer a wide view of the stage while blocking most of the audience from sight. Without any guards sharing the space, Garnet realized how large their private suite was. She thought back to the days when the entire royal family would attend opening night performances of the Ember Island Players. Zuko, his face pristine and white, would lean his head into his mother's shoulder as she wrapped an arm around him. Garnet would sit with her brother Lu Ten, sipping tea and enjoying their father's hearty laugh. But now only two family members remained to observe the show – the only two still alive and in the Fire Lord's good graces.

The double doors behind her opened, and a tall woman wearing a deep crimson duster stepped into the booth. She was dressed for combat, wearing armored gloves and boots as well as a metal bracer on her left arm. A silver eye patch hung over her right eye, and the handle of a sheathed sword protruded from her left hip.

"Ah, Beatrix," Azula addressed her without turning around. "Excellent. Begin the show."

Beatrix walked purposefully between the two princesses until she was standing at the edge of the balcony. She casually flipped her hair over her shoulder before extending her right arm, palm out. She stepped back on her right foot, bending her knees slightly, and pulled both arms into her chest. She pushed the arm out again, and a ball of flame erupted from her palm. It sailed resolutely into the sky before striking a small lantern suspended from a length of overhanging wire some fifty feet away. The wooden container erupted into a shower of colorful fireworks. As the crowd oohed and aahed, the torches all around the theater dimmed. A portly man with a heavy beard parted the onstage curtains and addressed the crowd in a booming voice.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he began, his beefy arms stretched wide. "Tonight's performance is a story that takes place long, long ago. Our heroine, Princess Cornelia, is torn from her lover, Marcus. She attempts to flee the castle, only to be captured by her father, King Leo. When our story begins, Marcus, having heard of this, crosses swords with the king. And now, Your Highnesses, Princess Garnet and Princess Azula, noble ladies and lords, and our rooftop viewers, Tantalus proudly presents 'I Want to Be Your Canary'!"

He swept his hands into a dramatic bow and exited the stage. Many of the roof-dwellers hollered and clapped; the ticketed guests offered up a faint applause as well. The surrounding lanterns were extinguished, and the theater was plunged into darkness except for a faint circle of light radiating from a lone lamp above center stage. The members of Tantalus took their positions: Baku on stage right flanked by Blank, Pipsqueak, and Longshot; Marcus opposing him in the center; Zidane, Cinna, and Smellerbee waiting just offstage behind him, and Jet atop the bridge on the wood-and-foam castle set piece they had constructed for the show. As the flames in the lanterns flared into life once more, Zidane and his company raced into the light.

"We shall back thee, kinsman!" Smellerbee called out, drawing a pair of wooden knives from her belt.

"Pray, sheathe thy swords!" Marcus yelled back, keeping his eyes on Baku. "This villain is mine alone!"

"Nay, kinsman! For I, too, have lost a brother to this fiend!" Cinna joined in, brandishing his hammer at the accused. 'Leo' roared in protest.

"What ho? Out, vermin, away! Thou darest bare thy sword before the king!? All who stand in my way will be crushed!"

At that cue, the eight performers raced into their elaborately choreographed combat routine. Longshot stepped back and loosed an arrow at the charging Smellerbee, who deflected the shaft with one of her daggers. He readied another, but she was upon him before he could get the shot off properly. She crossed her weapons in front of her and pushed him forearm upwards; his leather armguard blocked the 'blade' but his arrow fired wildly and disappeared backstage. In an instant she had swung behind him and raised a dagger to his throat. His bow clattered to the floor.

Pipsqueak's log and Cinna's hammer crashed into each other: high, low, then high again. After the last iteration, Pipsqueak took one hand off his weapon and grabbed Cinna's wrist. Cinna thrust his body forward, as if being pulled; when they were a few inches apart, he snapped his head back. Pipsqueak stomped his upstage foot at the exact same moment, and the crowd gasped at the apparent head-butt as Cinna dropped to the ground. But before Pipsqueak could finish the job, Jet's hooked sword laced around his wrist and yanked him hard. He toppled through the back curtain.

Zidane met Blank's weapon with two of his own, then released one of the knives to aim a wide swing at Blank's midsection. Blank stepped back to avoid the attack and came in behind it with a powerful overhand slash. Zidane ducked under the sword and somersaulted past his opponent, righting himself just in time to block another incoming swing. The force of the impact pushed him off-balance, and Blank raced forward to end their duel. He grabbed his sword with both hands and stabbed downward, but Zidane was still too quick. He leapt past Blank, their backs pressed together for an instant, and grabbed his fist with his other hand. Blank dropped to the ground, feigning an elbow to the back, and didn't rise.

Marcus and Baku adopted formal dueling postures and traded a series of lightning-quick thrusts and parries. Baku scored the first hit when one of his counters grazed the top of Marcus' shoulder, but the younger combatant deftly regained the upper hand. He swung and dodged with a silent grace that frustrated the King until at last he took his chance, his sword slicing just underneath Baku's. The King grabbed his stomach and howled in pain, dropping his sword as well. He retreated to the stairs and climbed them sluggishly, favoring the 'wound'. Zidane raced to follow him, but Jet leapt from his post atop the castle and landed deftly on the stairs between them, his hook swords brandished.

"Out of the way, Jet!" Zidane yelled, punctuating the words with an angry swipe of his dagger. Jet didn't budge.

"Consider this, Zidane," he called back, in an exaggerated shout so the audience could hear. "If Prince Schneider were to marry Princess Cornelia, peace would reign over both their kingdoms!"

"'Tis foolishness! If all were so easy, why, none would suffer in this world!"

He advanced slowly up the staircase, and Jet gave ground until they were level on top of the constructed castle. Zidane made the first move, swiping at Jet's face with the flat of his blade. Jet backed away from the strike and pivoted into a low sweep with his hook swords, which Zidane leapt over. Zidane stabbed at the older boy's exposed back, but Jet quickly brought the swords around again to block. Wood thumped against wood, but the sound of clashing metal rang out from backstage. Jet allowed himself a small grin, then hooked one sword around the coping of a parapet and jumped off the ledge. He landed lightly in the center of the stage, then leapt again down into the aisle. Zidane followed as quickly as he was able, and they took their combat into the audience.

The crowd cheered as Zidane caught up to Jet and spun him around by the shoulder, his punch seeming to catch the traitor on the chin. But even as he recoiled Jet swung his hook sword in a backhand arc, catching Zidane's heel and pulling him off-balance. Jet spun and used the momentum to propel the second sword forward, curved edge out, lunging for the finishing blow. At the last second, Zidane's front foot slid forward and he ducked into a split. The sword passed over his head and he shot upward, his outstretched dagger reaching for Jet's exposed armpit. But by this time his opponent's off-hand sword had come full circle, and it swatted the attack away. Still Zidane pressed his advantage, stabbing downward at Jet's feet with one blade before swinging across his own body to slash at Jet's chest with the other. Jet stumbled backwards, avoiding the attacks but conceding the fight. He turned and ran once again, and Zidane chased him out of the theater to wild applause from the crowd.

They kept up the act even as the cheers from the audience disappeared behind them. Jet raced through the small atrium that separated the auditorium from the street, vaulting over a pair of wooden tables and taking care to smash a vase of flowers on his way. Zidane followed close behind, traipsing loudly over the tables and screaming in supposed fury. Several Fire Nations guards, noticing the commotion, broke from their positions and closed in on the assailants. They gave chase as Jet led them out the main entrance and around the corner into a narrow alley. Just as they came around the bend, Jet hooked the nearest soldier behind his neck and launched him into a nearby wooden barrel. Zidane slipped around the second and punched the third square in the nose; as the guard instinctively brought his hands to his face, Zidane drew his real daggers, slid between the man's legs, and slashed across both his Achilles tendons. The soldier crumpled to the ground.

The middle guard managed to bring his spear up in time to deflect Jet's opening strike, but he was unprepared for the ferocity of the young man's charge. In no time Jet had hooked his ankle and forced him to the ground, where a solid blow from the hilt of Zidane's dagger knocked him unconscious. The first guard managed to extract himself from the pile of greasy fish heads that had erupted from the downed barrel, but he was met with a sword pointed at his throat. Jet stood above him, framed in the afternoon sun, a smirk on his face.

"I'm gonna need that uniform."

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Yes, this story is live again. No, it won't be six months between updates.

I started this fic on a lark when I noticed some fun similarities between the two worlds, but I didn't pursue it much beyond that first chapter. My thanks to those who found it worth reviewing, as you inspired me to continue it. Also, my apologies for stringing you along without any communication.

I've got a significant amount of the story outlined now, but there's a lot to tell so it will take time. My current goal is to have a decent-length chapter up every Wednesday, but to me a decent length is actually twice what I have here, so we'll see. No promises, but I will let you know if I need to take any significant breaks from that schedule.

Reviews are encouraged, particularly those that honestly tell me what I could be doing better. Please don't feel the need to protect my ego; I'm going to keep writing anyway so I might as well try to get better while I do.


	3. Chapter 3: Find the Princess

Zidane struggled with the Fire Nation uniform he had procured from the downed guard. His chest was too shallow and his shoulders far too narrow for the standard issue breastplate, a combination which made him comically top-heavy. In addition to his compromised balance, he had to deal with boots that were several sizes too big (and, for some reason, wet) forcing him to kick hard with every step to prevent them from coming loose. Jet, being taller and more muscular, seemed to be having much less trouble with the disguise; that hadn't stopped him from retching at the smell of his helmet. Ignoring it as best he could, he dropped the last piece of armor firmly in place and grabbed his swords.

"According to recon…the royal seats should be up a flight of stairs just inside. You good to go?" Zidane flashed him a thumbs up. "Good. The scene where Marcus sneaks into Cornelia's chamber is about to start. Let's get this over with before the finale, okay?" A nod of the head this time, which caused Zidane's helmet to rattle precariously on his shoulders. The two infiltrators sneaked in through a side door, Zidane kicking into his boots and Jet trying his best to breathe through his mouth.

They had just crossed the threshold when a hooded figure slammed into Zidane, causing both of them to take several steps back. The stranger, whose head had been turned the other way, looked at the pair with wide, frightened eyes. "Please pardon me. I was in a hurry, you see…" She dropped her gaze and moved to walk around him, but he sidestepped to remain in front of her.

"Wait. Hold on a sec! Haven't we met before?" he questioned.

"No, I do not know you…"

Zidane leaned down, trying to get a better look at her face under the cape. Once again she turned away. "Hmm…maybe you're right…I'd never let someone as pretty as you get away. Say, you wouldn't-"

"I…I must go!"

She raced for the open door behind him, but it slammed shut before she could even get close. Jet's hand remained on the door, and he glared at the newcomer with a mix of hatred and satisfaction. "Wake up Zidane!" he nearly shouted, his voice cold and clear. "This is Princess Garnet!"

Zidane's jaw dropped involuntarily. He took in the girl's exquisite golden cape and the crimson hem of a robe that dazzled with inlaid silver and gems. He examined her pale skin and the blush that was rapidly rising in her cheeks. This majesty and splendor, coupled with the way she reflexively pulled her arms tight around her body at the accusation, told him that Jet was right. But he couldn't for the life of him think of anything to say.

It was Garnet herself who broke the tense silence. "You work on the theater ship?"

"Yes," they answered together. Zidane was surprised to hear his voice coming out softly, even shyly.

"The truth is…yes, I am actually…Princess Garnet, daughter of Iroh, and a member of the royal family." Jet smirked; Zidane continued to wonder why he was unable to move. "I have a favor I wish to ask of you…I wish to be kidnapped…right away."

The smirk disappeared from Jet's face. He caught Zidane's confused look, and fought to mask his own. After taking a moment to collect himself, he responded in his usual confident manner. "Well, Princess, I think we can-"

_*BOOM!*_

The door to the outside was suddenly blasted off its hinges. Smoke and debris poured in from the explosion site, filling the air between Garnet and Jet with ash. As the smoke dispersed, a trio of Fire Nation soldier silhouettes gradually came into focus. The one in front stepped forward, and Zidane could see a long face framed by light brown hair and partially obscured by a silver eye patch. Her right hand rested on the handle of her sheathed sword; her left was extended, palm out, still smoldering from the blast of fire it had launched.

Garnet flung both arms around Zidane's forearm and gasped, "Please…They've come for me!"

"Aha, so that's what's going on," he replied, though more to himself than to the princess. He turned to her and, keeping his voice soft, offered, "Alright! This way!"

He grabbed her wrist and raced down a hallway, passing under the stairs from which she had just come. As they turned a corner, Zidane looked back to see the Fire Nation General, Beatrix, in hot pursuit. Farther back, and thankfully unbeknownst to her, Jet had successfully ambushed the other two guards from his unseen position against the back wall, cutting off her support. But even on her own, the Fire Nation general was more than a match for the unlikely trio; Zidane kept running.

* * *

Backstage, Vivi was watching the play unfold with excited, unblinking eyes. The short troupe member, who went by the strange name The Duke, had positioned him by a row of wheels and pulleys that controlled the backdrop and some other painted set pieces. Occasionally The Duke would whisper a number to him, and he would pull or crank as needed. He wasn't very strong, so the constant exertion was difficult for him. But he was learning quickly, and aside from one embarrassing moment when he nearly dropped a cutout shrub on Princess Cornelia he thought he was doing a pretty good job. And in exchange Vivi was able to see the show from far closer than any one of the rich nobles in the theater, and who knows how much they had paid to get those tickets!

Blank and the rest of the Freedom Fighters waited anxiously for any sign of Jet or Zidane with the Princess. Marcus and Cornelia's long dialogue was nearing its end, which left only the final confrontation before the end of the play and their planned escape. The actors would rush straight through the backstage area and onboard their balloon, igniting the fuse on the blasting gel behind them to cover their escape. But they couldn't go anywhere without their prize, and it seemed as if she had eluded two of their best.

A crash echoed out from an adjacent corridor, and Blank instinctively drew his sword. He motioned Longshot and Cinna to him, and both drew their weapons as they followed him to the source. He could see bursts of light reflecting off the polished stone walls, the display too sudden and dramatic to be torches. He turned and hissed to the others, "Firebenders!"

Fearing for their friends, the three raced around the corner and were met with a complete mess. Zidane was headed toward them, but his path was almost entirely blocked by tattered furniture and aging, broken props from shows past. With one hand he haphazardly shoved a rack of clothes away from him, while the other maintained a firm grip on the princess' wrist. Behind them, General Beatrix was laying waste to everything within range of her sword; her pace barely broke as each obstacle collapsed in front of her. Jet was creeping along in her wake, his hook swords raised, waiting for the opportune moment.

"C'mon!" Blank shouted, before diving into the melee. He leapt past the princess and jabbed at Beatrix with his sword, unable to execute a proper swing because of the limited space. She pushed the attack wide without apparent effort and punched him full in the face with her gauntlet; his body rolled over a cherry wood dresser and disappeared from view. Up ahead, Zidane passed the princess off to Cinna. "Get her onto the ship!" he shouted over the din. No doubt the audience could hear their disturbance now – no matter. They had what they came for, and now it was time to get the heck out before Azula's personal guard executed them. At least the dry wood and tight quarters would keep her fire-bending at bay. Zidane drew his daggers and fell into a ready stance.

Beatrix raced for him as soon as she had cleared the last of the debris between them. Zidane heard the whistle of an arrow pass just over his right ear; only Longshot would have so much trust in his aim. The projectile was perfectly on target, but Beatrix blocked it with the flat of her blade. In another instant she was on him, and Zidane could feel the heat radiating from her as he ducked just under her strike. He was tempted to swing behind her and give Longshot another opening, but Blank and Jet already had position on her and she didn't seem concerned with anything except getting to the princess. It didn't matter - she brushed his counter aside like it was nothing and checked him into the wall with her armored shoulder. She continued past Longshot before he could notch another arrow and bolted around the corner, leaving all four boys in her furious wake. Zidane doubled back to help Blank to his feet, by which point Jet had caught up to them. "Let's go!" Jet shouted to the others; "We need to cast off while we still can!" Together they raced back to the ship.

Onstage, complete chaos had broken out. Cinna had raced past a confounded Marcus with the princess in tow, screaming about their pursuer and the need for an immediate getaway. At his warning the entire cast had scrambled to pack up and leave through the upstage exit, though Marcus had the presence of mind to shout at the princess, "At last Cornelia, we shall flee together and be married in a faraway land!" before escaping. The audience was actually enthralled by this new twist in Lord Avon's famous play, even those few who recognized that the hooded lady was actually their own Princess Garnet. At this point some careless foot had upset the waiting bucket of pentapi into the front row, breaking the illusion and sending the surrounding crowd into a confused panic. Lords shouted and ladies fainted as the purple suckers harmlessly attached themselves to any bit of flesh within reach of their slimy tentacles. As the screams multiplied, the Fire Nation guards on duty realized that their services might be required onstage. They readied their weapons and marched up the ramps at either end of the stage.

When The Duke saw the guards approaching from both wings, he called for Vivi. The poor Fire Nation lad was still standing in the same spot as before, and had pulled his pointed hat down over his ears to block out the offending commotion. Despite the danger of the situation, The Duke couldn't help but feel pity towards this frightened soul. He ran to Vivi, grabbed both his shoulders, and gave them a hard shake. At this the boy's eyes darted upward, and they stared out wide and frightened from underneath his hat.

"C'mon, we gotta go!" The Duke shouted. He quickly turned to the pulley system and grabbed a pair of levers, leaping into the air to allow the full weight of his body to crash down on the instruments. This freed the corresponding ropes to rocket up to the ceiling, pulled down by the net of heavy barrels attached to each opposite end. The barrels crashed down on either side of the stage, knocking out several guards and blocking the paths of everyone behind them. His work complete, The Duke grabbed the hem of Vivi's cloak and pulled him toward the exit.

The remaining Freedom Fighters fought back against the few soldiers who had made it onstage before the barrels collapsed. Pipsqueak's log made quick work of even metal helmets, and Baku's long life of thievery made him one of the dirtiest fighters in all the four nations. Together they cleared the stage for the rest of their gang and prepared to cast off. But before they could climb aboard, a concussive blast of fire ripped into the hull, cracking boards and melting nails. Beatrix stood before them, her shoulders heaving with exertion and rage at the kidnapping. "Return the princess!' she commanded. Behind her Baku could see Jet, Blank, Zidane, and Longshot climbing one of the guidelines onto the airship. He, Pipsqueak, and The Duke were the only ones not on board – there was no use fighting, so they had to take their chances and make a break for it. As he ducked through the doorway, Beatrix punched another fireball at the group. In a panic, Vivi swept his arms into the air; the fire was pushed up and back, impacting into the rafters with a crash. The last thing he saw was the look of shock and betrayal on the general's face before he scrambled through the doorway himself.

* * *

Azula had been watching the play with bored amusement until Garnet appeared onstage. She understood instantly what was happening, though she couldn't fathom Garnet's willingness to go along with the plan. There was no denying it – her cousin was not resisting the kidnappers, but was in fact actively fleeing Beatrix. Regardless, there could be no way that Tantalus would be leaving Ember Island this day. But Azula's blood boiled as she watched the royal guard make a spectacle of themselves, and in front of half the Fire Nation nobility to boot! As if that weren't enough, these ruffians had a traitorous Fire Nation child with them! They had to be brought to justice, and swiftly. _Fine_, Azula thought, _I'll do it myself._

She ran up to the edge of her balcony and kicked off the guardrail, backflipping onto the roof above. From there she raced to the nearest line of suspended lanterns and quickly tight-roped her way to the top of the proscenium, her arms flung behind her for balance. Upon reaching the edge of the stage she leapt to the ground, palms down and out at a diagonal for a last-second burst of flame that arrested her momentum and pushed her into a somersault. She came up on her feet just as the airship was pulling away from the stage.

"We need to bring them down without harming the princess," Beatrix reported matter-of-factly. "We could puncture the balloons, but that might…"

"Mercy doesn't become you, general," Azula replied coldly. "My cousin allowed herself to be captured, so as of right now she is an enemy and a threat."

"How can you-" Beatrix began, but Azula had already turned her back and walked off in the other direction. Beatrix watched her grab a handful of the netting that held the heavy barrels; with sudden speed she turned and hurled the material at the slowly retreating form of the airship. The net fell onto the hooks of the ship's anchor, which the kidnappers had not had time to retract. The ropes grew taut as the vessel pulled away, and soon the net and its contents were dragged offstage to dangle under the ship's keel. At last Azula spared a glance toward Beatrix, smirking at her subordinate's wide eyes and general confusion.

"They left their blasting gel behind", she said lightly, reveling in her own little joke. "I thought we should return it to them."

She faced the retreating vessel and adopted a fighting stance; Beatrix dropped her weapon and mirrored her. Together they lifted their front legs and raised their arms, then as one leapt into a pirouette and pushed out their palms. A stream of fire shot from their hands and impacted the barrels, igniting them in a huge explosion. The blast rocked the airship, and it began listing dangerously back and forth. Smoke poured from the ship's stern as bits of wood and metal dropped from the damaged sections or were consumed and turned to ash. But the vessel stayed airborne despite the blast and continued its flight from the Fire Nation. Azula seethed. Her eyes narrowed, and she spit two words at Beatrix with as much cold hatred as she could muster.

"Find them."

* * *

**Author's Notes**

The play was not staged on the deck of the airship like in FFIX, but the ship was moored directly against the ship and used as a backdrop. I probably could have done a better job explaining that in previous chapters. In general I didn't plan the layout of the theatre very well in my head.

Also, I am using the term "airship" even though they are Avatar-style balloon or zeppelins and not Mist-powered airships. As air travel is already ubiquitous in this combined world, I think the term still works.

Please read & review!


	4. Chapter 4: The Boy in the Iceberg

The air at the South Pole was frigid – even the arrival of an early spring could not muster enough heat to combat the climate. The sky was also unusually clear, letting through piercing sunlight that reflected off the surfaces of countless ice floes loping idly amongst shallow waves. The water's glass-like surface was broken by a solitary line of white, the wake of a lone canoe whose owners had wandered far from home to search for food under the newly-cracked canopy of ice and snow.

There were two inhabitants – siblings, in fact. The elder, a boy of 15 named Sokka, was leaning precariously over the bow of their little vessel; he had spotted his first fish of the new hunting season and was eager to collect his prize. He brushed a strand of hair away from his face with his left hand, his right keeping a firm grip on a makeshift wooden spear. Behind him, his younger sister Katara was occupying herself by moving one hand slowly through the air, mimicking the waves as they lapped against the canoe's hide covering. She snapped her wrist suddenly against the tide, and the gentle lapping was replaced with a strong current going the opposite direction. From the front of the ship there came a splashing sound, followed by an exasperated sigh.

"Missed!" the boy shouted. His pained cry lingered in the unmoving air around them; aside from the fish, they hadn't seen another living being all day, on land or in the sea. He pulled his weapon from the water and rubbed his hands together over it, more for luck than anything since his fur-lined coat and gloves provided ample protection from the icy southern temperatures. He let out a slow breath, and the cold air turned it instantly to fog. His father had once told him that deep breathing relaxed the muscles and calmed the nerves, and both were key to a successful hunt. _The village is counting on me,_ he thought; _I'm the only man old enough and strong enough to fish._ He pulled back his spear again, searching the water with renewed vigor.

Mere feet away, Katara was also focusing intently. Like her brother, she was clad head to toe in garments of polar bear fur and sealskin to repel the cold. Both outfits were dyed various shades of blue and purple, the few dyes their village could extract from the mollusks and other sea creatures that lived near the poles. But some hidden sense was telling Katara that she needed to be nearer – no, _closer_ – to the water in order to properly commune with it. Tentatively she pulled at the fingers of her left glove, drawing her hand free. She made a few slow, deliberate upward motions and watched excitedly as a large bubble rose to the ocean's surface, a brightly-skinned fish at its center. Her right hand swooped in carefully, cupping the underside of the bubble with the care of a young mother cradling an infant in her arms. To her delight, it broke free from the waves and hovered just in front of her. She made a few more investigative motions, guiding the ball of water through all three dimensions with intense care. At last she rolled her hands in toward her body, and the ball obliged by drawing close to the canoe. "Sokka, look!" she shouted in exhilaration.

"Shhh, Katara, you're gonna scare it away!" Sokka whispered, his gaze fixed on his target. He licked his lips and continued muttering: "Mmm…I can already smell it cookin'!"

Katara wasn't listening. The watery globe was now hovering above the canoe between the two of them, and the fish within writhed in futile panic. "But Sokka! I caught one!" She slowly dropped her arms, and the bubble dropped ever nearer to the boat. Unfortunately for both siblings, Sokka chose that exact moment to draw back his spear for the next fishing attempt. The butt of the spear poked through the outermost layer of water, and the sphere burst in a shower of icy water. The lucky fish landed on the edge of the canoe and desperately flapped itself to freedom in the depths of the ocean, leaving Sokka wet and hungry and both Water Tribe children extremely ill-tempered.

"Why is it that every time YOU play with magic water, I get soaked?" Sokka complained while wiping the frigid water from his eyes.

Katara gritted her teeth. _Again with the magic complaints?_, she thought. "It's not magic, it's waterbending; an ancient and sacred-"

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard the speech before," Sokka interrupted. As he wrung out his coat over the canoe's edge he adopted a high-pitched, whiny voice. " 'An ancient and sacred art unique to our culture and critical to our heritage.' Blah, blah, blah." He dropped the voice, but his tone became no less cutting for it. "Look, I'm just saying that if I had weird powers, I'd keep my weirdness to myself."

"You're calling *me* weird? I'm not the one who makes muscles at myself every time I see my reflection in the water." She smiled at Sokka's embarrassed grimace, as he had been doing exactly that.

"Hey, I'm a warrior, alright? I've got to-"

His full response was cut off by the sound of an explosion. For a second the two had difficulty determining its source, as the bits of horizon they could see between icebergs showed no signs of any vessel. Only when Sokka thought to check the sky did he see it: a grand wooden ship held aloft by a trio of massive balloons, trailing a grave-looking plume of smoke behind it.

"Katara, look! Up there!"

As it passed closer to the teenagers they could see bodies scurrying about on the deck, throwing boxes over the side or fighting with the rigging. One enterprising soul suddenly dropped headfirst from the ship's bow, riding a line that had been dropped to the water by securing it between clasped knees and ankles. He carried an empty bucket in each hand. Moments before smashing into the ocean below he stopped his descent and reached down with both arms; a passing wave crashed into his body but also did a decent job filled his buckets. He waved to his companion, who dutifully hoisted him back up. Sokka lost himself for a second trying to ascertain what had done the waving, as all of his limbs had been occupied, but soon came to his senses. Katara was shouting at him.

"Sokka, did you hear me? I said 'Let's go!'" She raced to the bow, oar already in hand, and began furiously peddling their little canoe. With only a single driver, it veered off into the open ocean at a diagonal.

"Hey, hold on!" he shouted back. Whether she didn't hear or didn't care, he couldn't tell. He grabbed the other oar and resolutely stabbed the paddle into the water near the stern, causing the canoe to quickly swing off her desired course. This finally got her attention, and she rounded on him in an instant.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, her eyes wide with shock and betrayal. "Those people are in serious trouble, and they need our help!"

"What would we do?" Sokka fired back, more exasperated than angry. He threw up his hands as if to indicate their surroundings. "We're way too far from the village already, and we have NO supplies. No food, no medicine, nothing they could use! And besides, at that height they could still travel for miles before hitting the water – how are we supposed to keep up with an _airship_?"

The canoe lurched to the side, buffeted by a passing wave. The craft began to pick up speed, slowly at first, as the unceasing tide pulled it into a current between a pair of large icebergs. In their anger, neither Sokka nor Katara realized the danger of this unfamiliar area of the sea.

"So what, we do nothing? Just ignore the fact that people could be suffering and even dying just over the horizon? How could you say such a thing?

"At least I'm thinking things through! Leave it to a girl to get all sobby and emotional in a crisis."

Katara's rage boiled over, and she jabbed an accusing finger mere inches from her brother's nose. "YOU are the most sexist, immature, nut-brained-"

A crunching, squealing sound cut off her latest insult, and both their bodies were flung into the front of the canoe. The tiny vessel had crashed into an iceberg that sported several menacing spikes around its perimeter, one of which had breached the hull. Frigid water seeped upward from the point of impact and splashed over the sides that languished below the water line. Frantic, Sokka pushed himself to his feet and grabbed Katara's offered hand, all vestiges of the argument temporarily forgotten in their panicked rush to stay alive. He located a section of ice that was relatively flat and free of debris, and took two giant steps in that direction. Thankfully the floe held their weight, and both he and Katara flopped down onto the hard surface and heaved with panicked breaths.

For a moment the ice felt good on Sokka's cheek, as its cold touch cooled the flush of hot blood that had risen up inside him from the last furious minute. But that relief soon turned to dread as he examined their current situation in his head. They were far from the village, farther than Sokka had ever been without an adult. They had also drifted onto an unfamiliar course when they started arguing, which meant that he couldn't guide them back from memory alone. _And even if I could,_ Sokka thought, only now sparing a glance back in the direction of their canoe. A strangled cry escaped his lips at the sight.

The vessel was past saving. The skin shell had been punctured all along one side, and the frame was grotesquely warped around the point of impact. Most of the undamaged wood was wet and already freezing. There was no way he could repair the damage, which meant they had lost their only means of leaving the iceberg. Lacking any other course of action, they were now at the mercy of the ocean.

Katara got to her feet, sputtering. Her hair, usually so well-kept, was wet and matted around her face; she had to physically move it aside in order to see. Her eyes were wide with shock, gleaming as cold and blue as the water itself. She flexed her fingers and moved her lips rapidly, though Sokka could not make out any words. Then she began pacing the width of the iceberg that was acting as their lifeboat. The demonstration scared him; it was as if she was continuing the argument before even worrying about getting air back into her lungs.

"…stupid, immature…can't even…but does he ever…can't possibly…" The pacing quickened, in increasingly random directions. Sokka was too frightened to intervene, but when she finally rounded on him he wondered if it would have been wiser to cut her off early.

"I'm embarrassed to be related to you!" she screamed. The water all around them rippled away, as if the entire ocean was trying to avoid her. "Ever since Mom died I've been doing ALL the work around camp while YOU've been off playing soldier!"

Suddenly Sokka realized that he and the water weren't the only things reacting to his sister's terrifying mood. The very ice on which they sat was shaking along with her tirade, the frequency hastening with every punched word or swept arm.

"I even wash all the clothes! Have you ever smelled your dirty socks? Let me tell you, NOT PLEASANT!"

Sokka was far too distracted by the earthquake that he expected would begin any minute to wonder how her lecture had migrated to the issue of chores. Cracks were developing in some of the nearby pillars of ice, including the very large specimen immediately behind her. He briefly wondered what it would feel like to be completely entombed by tiny shards of ice. He imagined that it wouldn't be good, and he had no desire to find out. "Uh, Katara? I think-"

"That's enough, I'm finished, I'm done helping you. From now on, you're on your OWN."

She punctuated the last word with a defiant sweep of her arms, and the invisible force was too much for her unintended target. A gaping crack wound its way from the base of the iceberg all the way to the peak, and the icy mountain was chopped neatly in two. The newly parted halves crumbled into the ocean, creating a wave that pushed the siblings' fragile ice floe nearly thirty feet away. By some impossible luck, both of them managed to grab hold of an edge and keep from falling into the icy water once again. Once the wave's energy had completely dissolved into foam, Sokka was able to spare a few shallow, gasping breaths for speech. "Okay, you've gone from weird to freakish, Katara."

Her eyes stared at the debris in shocked recognition. "You mean…I did that?"

"Yup. Congratulations."

They floated in silence for a few moments, Katara contemplating her newfound power and Sokka trying to figure out if they could use it to get back home. They were lucky to be alive, certainly, but they had little chance of surviving much longer without food or shelter. It wasn't yet summer, so the sun would set eventually.

Suddenly, the water beneath them began to glow a stunning pale blue. Thousands of tiny bubbles rose to the surface and broke, as if the very ocean were boiling hot. Amid this fury, an azure circle of light appeared in the depths below; it grew larger by the second, until it breached the surface with a furious crash. In its wake stood a massive iceberg, shorter than Katara's first victim but several times as wide. It bobbed carelessly in place, huge and clear. Its surface was so pristine that Katara thought she could make out her own reflection in one of its many faces. Upon closer inspection, however, she realized that what she saw was not her own image, but a body buried deep in the ice. The sun's light shone through the crystal structure, throwing the figure into sharp relief. But as shocking as this discovery was, nothing could prepare her for the moment when the figure opened its eyes, uncovering two pockets of shining white light.

Katara's hand leapt to her mouth, which had dropped seemingly of its own accord. "He's alive," she whispered, as if forcing herself to acknowledge that such a thing could even be possible. She turned to Sokka and repeated, louder this time, "He's alive! We have to help!" This time she didn't wait for her brother's counterargument, but instead grabbed his bone club from the sling he wore on his back. She leapt the gap between the two ice floes in a single running bound, then immediately struck the icy prison with Sokka's club as hard as she could. Nothing happened. Undeterred, she lashed out at the wall of ice again and again.

After nearly a dozen hits, the barrier finally gave way. Impossibly warm air rushed through the cracks she had made, obscuring the rest of the world in a thin fog. The force of this escaping air rent the iceberg completely in two, and the top of the structure collapsed in a shower of ice chips. A dazzling pillar of blue-white light escaped into the heavens, casting photonic shockwaves through the southern sky. Katara instinctively reached for her brother as this destructive display ran its course, grabbing the fur of his jacket and ducking her head against his chest. For his part Sokka was completely mesmerized by this series of events, and he only averted his eyes when its radiance at last overwhelmed him.

He was only just regaining his vision when he saw the figure standing atop a surviving wall of ice some ten feet above them. It appeared to be a young boy, slight of frame, wearing a yellow body suit with additional orange pieces. From his bare head and hands emanated an eerie glow, identical to the light behind his empty eye sockets. In this form he was unlike any being Sokka had ever seen, and the young tribesman raised his spear in a defensive gesture. But the light suddenly faded from the boy's body, and he tumbled helplessly from his impromptu platform. Katara caught him before he hit the ground, and gently propped him against the wall from which he had fallen. Sokka approached them with his spear outstretched, but she shooed him away with a wave of her arm and a stern glance to support it.

A sigh escaped the boy's lips, grabbing her attention once again. She watched as his eyes fluttered, then opened. His lips moved briefly, but she couldn't make out any words. With trepidation, she brought her face to within inches of his. He blinked slowly, then whispered, "I need to ask you something."

"What is it?" she responded, whispering in kind.

The boy's eyes suddenly darted open, and he replied in a cheery, energetic voice, "Will you go penguin sledding with me?"

Katara was taken aback by the sudden change in his demeanor, not to mention the oddity of his request. In the moment, all she could think of to say was "Uh…sure, I guess."

The boy then did something even stranger – he _floated_ to his feet. Or at least that was the best guess that Katara could offer, as he had simply been lifted into the air and set in a standing position as if by a powerful, benevolent gust of wind. He took a few casual glances at their surroundings, absently scratching himself like someone just waking up from a long night's sleep. "What's going on here?"

"You tell us!" Sokka spit back, brandishing his spear at this unknown entity. "How'd you get in the ice? And why aren't you frozen?"

The boy shrugged and offered up a non-committal grunt that seemed far too loud for his slender frame. His eyes suddenly widened even further, and he turned around and launched himself at the wall of ice from which he had fallen not two minutes earlier. Though his hands could find little purchase on the icy surface, he nevertheless managed to scramble his way to the top of the crater as lightly as a lemur sloth. Once there, he peered down into its center with a look of delight.

"Appa, are you alright?" he shouted to the ice. With a leap, he dropped down onto the other side of the chasm. Sokka could hear another deep moan, followed by the boy's laughter. He followed his sister as they carefully worked their way around the perimeter of the ice floe, hoping to get a glimpse of whatever was making those strange noises. When they finally arrived at a gap in the wall, their mouths dropped in shock.

Standing in front of them was a massive, hairy beast with six legs and a pair of horns protruding from either side of his head. He looked to be at least ten feet tall and several times as long, and on his forehead he bore a downward-pointing arrow that matched his owner's perfectly. The boy's entire wingspan could not even cover the creature's nose, but it licked his face with all the gentleness and ardor of a puppy.

It took several long moments before Sokka became capable of speech again. "What is…that…thing?!"

"This is Appa, my flying bison," the boy replied enthusiastically, as if this explained everything. Sokka waited for him to say something, anything more, but he merely stood there with a foolish grin on his face. Eventually Sokka replied in a flat voice, "Riiiight. Well, this is Katara, my flying sister."

She rolled her eyes as she stepped past him, approaching the boy and his beast in what she hoped was a gesture of good faith. "The skeptical one is my brother, Sokka. You never told us your name."

The boy quickly opened his mouth to respond, but his face suddenly contorted in a monstrous way. Fearing for their safety, Katara looked all around for any sign of danger. Instead she felt a blast of wind as the boy let loose a mighty sneeze that pushed his entire body into the air. He hovered for a second in a blatant mockery of gravity, then rolled into a pair of easy backflips as he drifted back to the ground. He landed so lightly that his feet didn't even make an impression in the ice. "I'm Aang," he replied casually.

Sokka was incredulous. "You just sneezed…and flew ten feet in the air!"

"Really? It felt higher than that."

For all Sokka's confusion, Katara finally understood what was going on. "You're an airbender!" she cried out. How many impossible things could she witness in a day?

Apparently, for Sokka the answer was 'no more'. He clutched his head and muttered, "Giant light beams…flying bison…airbenders…I think I've got Midnight Sun Madness. I'm going home to where stuff makes sense." He turned in the direction of their canoe, only to be reminded of the sorry state in which they had left it.

Aang noticed the wreckage for the first time. "Well, if you guys are stuck, Appa and I can give you a lift," he offered. He leapt into a spin and air-bent himself onto the bison's back, which bore a large brown saddle that was secured about its midsection with heavy rope. Katara, eternal optimist that she was, didn't hesitate. "We'd love a ride, thanks!" In seconds she was standing alongside him in the saddle. Sokka was harder to convince.

"Oh no, I am not getting on that fluffy monster." He crossed his arms and resolutely faced the other direction, nose in the air.

"Are you hoping some other kind of monster will come along and give you a ride home?" his sister chided. "You know…before you freeze to death?"

After a moment of quiet deliberation, Sokka sighed and dropped his arms. With grudging acquiescence he shuffled over to the rest of the group and grabbed a tuft of the creature's fur. When he was halfway up its flank, it rolled two of its massive shoulders and deposited him ungracefully over the lip of the saddle. Neither party seemed particularly pleased with this arrangement.

"Okay!" Aang shouted with youthful expectation. "First time flyers, hold on tight! Yip yip!"

He snapped the reigns and the creature pushed off from the earth with its six trunk-like legs. It hovered in the air for one glorious instant, taking Katara's breath away, before crashing into the water with a massive belly flop. A few seconds later it began a slow, coordinated paddle.

"Come on Appa, yip yip." Aang repeated, his voice quieter this time. But Appa simply pushed his way through the water and did not attempt another take-off. "Truly amazing, really," Sokka snarked.

"He's just tired," Aang assured them. "A little rest and he'll be soaring through the sky. You'll see."

Sokka just rolled his eyes and busied himself finding the most comfortable sleeping position. With Aang steering and Katara watching him with a curious wonder, the trio slowly wound their way back to the Southern Water Tribe, the fading sun at their backs.

* * *

On the deck of a rusty ironclad battleship, Prince Zuko stared at the pillar of light with longing and excitement. He instinctively adjusted the heavy armor that rested on his shoulders, as if preparing for combat. In his mind, there was only one possible explanation for a spectacle of this magnitude. "Uncle, do you know what this means?" he shouted over his shoulder.

The man he questioned was sitting at a low table that had been set up for him on the foredeck, complete with game tiles and tea set. General Iroh, the war hero turned epicurean, looked up at his nephew with resignation. "I won't get to finish my game?"

Zuko turned away from the light, wearing a scowl that darkened his scarred face. "It means my search is about to come to an end. Helmsman, head a course for the light! You there, call the captain to the deck!" The ship erupted in activity as soldiers raced to their posts or prepared for battle. Zuko turned toward the bow once again and spoke quietly to himself, repeating the same mantra he had spoken every day for nearly three years:

"I'm going to capture the Avatar."

* * *

Author's Notes: First, sorry for the wait. Second, obviously this chapter is entirely novelization – stick with me! We'll be mixing these stories up soon enough. Third, please review if you can! I want to know what's working and what isn't, especially as I try different things (e.g. focusing heavily on description in this chapter, when I usually eschew setting for plot).


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